Calle´s Log

November

I hate winter, like really hate winter with a passion. Sometimes I wonder why people decided to live here in the first place. Its pitch black here for 6 months and colder then a well-digger´s ass when you get up in the morning…dark, when you leave work/school…dark. The sun is only a memory in the end and you hear the stories that somewhere behind all that white/grey mishmash in the sky it is a sun. That sickly pale white light (from the so called sun) that we got to enjoy for glorious two hours per day (hours we most likely are stuck in some building) isn’t enough! And they wonder why Swedes are so pale and depressed. Of course we are down in our shoes when we spend half of our life in this Cold and moist pitt that we call a “climate”.

November is the worst month of them all its not fall and its not winter, its the malign bastard son of the two. Tom waits said it best in his song “November” I will finish my whiney misery speech now with his lyrics from November.

No shadow
No stars
No moon
No care
November
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That’s the color of bone
No prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We’ll slaughter them all
November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November’s cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You’re my firing squad
November
With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare
Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag
Go away you rainsnout
Go away, blow your brains out
November

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